California Man - The Author's Cut Edition (8 page)

"Ask what?"

Lynn picked up a shard of driftwood, tossed it. It fell short of the water. "Come on, Emmi. About the man having dinner at your house. I won't pretend I'm not curious."

"James told you, huh?"

Lynn nodded.

"There isn't much to tell," she said, downplaying what had turned out to be a serious upset to her always precariously balanced psyche. "His name is Quinn Ramsay. Grace and I met him in town. He came into the store and asked me to go bike riding with him. I went."

"You went bike riding? With a man. You, Emily Welland, on a bike? That's big."

Lynn laughed and Emily joined her. "Yes, I went biking, and I've got the sore tailbone to prove it." She paused. "And tomorrow I'm going on a hike."

"Okay, this is getting even bigger." Lynn turned to look at her full on. "Quinn, huh? Obviously he's not a local."

Emily threw another stone in the water, continuing to stare into the dark, widening ripple. Lynn was right this thing with Quinn was getting bigger. As in second date bigger. Which, when she thought about it, had her panic meter topping out.

Lynn snapped two fingers in front of her eyes. "Earth to Emily, are you with me?"

"I'm here." She turned to look at her friend, then without warning, her eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm scared, Lynn. No. Not scared. More like petrified. He kind of... blinds me, you know. He's so sure of himself, so... dynamic. So, I don't know, worldly, I guess."

"And that's bad? Sounds to me like he's exactly what you need."

"What I need? Maybe. But what about him? He needs a twenty-seven-year-old
almost virgin
like he needs a tax audit. You know what I'm like with men. I haven't got it. Whatever that elusive
it
is. He's way out of my league."

"Stop it—right now! There's not a man on this planet who's 'out of your league,' as you put it." Lynn's expression was equal parts frustration and sympathy. "You're not still carrying around that stupid Bill Davis baggage, are you? That guy was a mistake. Big time. And the relationship was wrong for both of you. What happened wasn't your fault. I don't understand why you can't see that."

"And Peter? Are you going to tell me he was a mistake, too."

"Yes, I am. The classic ricochet romance. You didn't care about him, and he didn't care about you. You told me that yourself. What did you expect? Moonlight and roses?" Lynn's words and tone bordered on motherly-stern.

Emily, her mind in rebellion, didn't answer. Instead she picked up a handful of sand, watched it sift through her fingers.
The sands of time. Time heals all wounds. Killing time. Time waits for no one. Time flies...

The sand dust, caught an edge of moonlight, and gave off a faint gray shine. Her stare became vacant. She didn't want to believe Lynn was right—that she was that idiotic a dreamer.

When she didn't speak, Lynn did. "This quitting thing, you've got going on. It's not you, you know. Not who you are. And it doesn't make sense to cut yourself off from life because of a couple of bad experiences years ago." Lynn's voice lost its maternal edge and filled up with friendship and concern.

She let the sand go, brushed off her hands.
Brush off time...
"Maybe, but it's tough to accept that I went with a healthy, red-blooded young man for three years, and he didn't want me. That I couldn't attract him... in a physical way." Her smile was weak. "But I'll admit you're right about Peter. He was a kind of a... sexual test. But Bill." She stopped, swallowed another piece of her old hurt. "I loved Bill, and I thought he loved me. Thought he wanted me."

"Who says Bill was healthy and red-blooded? Maybe he wasn't. Did you ever think of that? Anyway, you were, what, seventeen, when you started going with him? You told me yourself you were always incredibly shy—that he was your first and only boyfriend. Besides, not every guy out there is a sex machine, you know. There's no one-sex-drive fits all rule. After all this time, you must understand that."

She gave a vague nod. She understood, all right. But understanding hadn't brought acceptance.

The memory of that last night with Bill was still raw. Still painful. It was the night Bill told her about his plans. Plans that didn't include her.

They were in his car, parked by the lake.

She'd always known he was spiritual, and she'd accepted abstinence in their relationship, but when he told her he was leaving her, to become a priest, it was dagger in her heart. Young and in love, in that instant, her world fell apart.

At first, she hadn't believed him, couldn't believe him.

Her face still burned when she thought of what a fool she'd been. Pleading, arguing, and finally begging him to stay with her, not to go. To top it off, she'd followed the begging with a gauche attempt to seduce him.

She remembered every button on that horrid pink blouse—exactly seven of them.

She'd undone every one of them,

What followed was a long, painfully strained moment, and with his eyes fixed on her young, too plump breasts, he'd said, "I don't want this, Emily."
Read, I don't want you.

She'd stumbled out of the car and thrown up.

A month later he left for the seminary.

Lynn said, "He never did become a priest, did he?"

"No. He left sometime in his first year."

"Did you ever hear from him again."

She shook her head. "No. Bill was a story without an ending."

For a time they were silent.

"You were just a kid," Lynn said. "So was he. I know it's stale and trite to say it, but you have to put it behind you."

She smiled, but the smile sat tight on her face. "And Peter? I should put Peter behind me, too, right?"

"You bounced into Peter's arms within the month. You made love, probably in a senseless, misguided attempt to prove something, and he never called you again. Two rejections in a row. Damn hard on the self esteem, I'll admit, but I've got news for you, kiddo, it happens to people every day—men and women. The difference is you've let it fester into an unhealthy, unjustified phobia."

"Yeah. One straightjacket away from the Cuckoo's nest, that's me." She tried a laugh, failed.

Lynn gave her a contemplative look. "My guess is that we wouldn't be rehashing all this if it weren't for the man you had to dinner tonight. Right?"

Emily started to deny it, then said, "He has started me thinking again. He said—"

"Go on."

"He said he was interested in me," she stammered. "He kissed me, Lynn. It's been a long time since I've been kissed. So very long."
And his mouth on mine... Heaven. With a bit of hell's heat tossed in for good measure.

"Good for him. He's a smart guy." Lynn took her hand. "It's okay, Emmi. It's a good thing. Just relax. Enjoy yourself—enjoy him! Don't let a couple of yesterdays ruin all your tomorrows. I know you're shy, I know you panic, but give him a chance—try not to let your fear win. Promise me you'll try.
Just try
."

Emily nodded. "I will." She heard Lynn, agreed with her, but it was Quinn's words that stayed in her mind. Demons. That was how he'd described fear. For the first time, Emily gave her anxiety a face, a nasty, gray face with bloody, beady eyes and twisted, sneering lips. She didn't like to think such a monstrous thing was inside of her.

"Good. And on that upbeat note, I'm going to leave you musing on the beach. James is waiting for me." She stood. "I'll tell him about the dog-sitting."

Emily rose from the log. "Actually, I'd better go in, too. I've mused enough for one night, and it's getting cold. Thanks for listening." Emily hugged her. "I'm lucky to have such a special friend."

"Aren't you, though?" Lynn replied, giving Emily a good squeeze. "Think of all the people out there who are stumbling through life without the benefit of my advice. Poor dears." She laughed. "Now if I could find a way to coach James in track and field, I'd have it made."

Emily looked startled for a moment and then asked, "Not going well, huh?"

"It's not my thing, you know?" Lynn rolled her eyes.

"Like biking wasn't mine?"

"Touché."

"Maybe you can find someone to help." Emily was determined to ask Quinn to help James but didn't want to get Lynn's hopes up—or James's. She would ask first.

"I'm looking. I'd really like James to do well. It means so much to him. That kid's got focus, I can tell you." Lynn gave Emily a quick kiss on the cheek. "'Nite, Em. Have a good time tomorrow. That's an order." Lynn waved a stern finger as her parting shot.

Emily watched her walk up the beach to her house. Lynn was right about her panics and fears. She needed to follow James's lead. She needed to focus on the positive—not her fears. She needed to get over herself.

"Bailly, come on, boy. Let's go home. We've got to go home and screw my head on straight. You up for that?

His furiously wagging tail said he was.

* * *

At quarter to twelve, Emily heard Quinn's Rover pull into the driveway. A cord tensed in her stomach, and she took a deep breath. She turned back to her computer screen, finished the line of dialogue she was working on, quickly typed an idea for the next scene below it, saved her file, and turned off the computer.

She glanced out the window in time to see Quinn settle on his haunches and rub Bailly's big soft head, talking to James as he did so. James's reaction surprised her. He wasn't shy, but he was always cautious with strangers, but she could see he'd warmed to Quinn. She was about to start for the door, when she saw Quinn stand, apparently in deep conversation with James.

Suddenly James took off at a run. Then, as quickly as he started, he stopped and turned back to look at Quinn. At the boy's questioning glance, he beckoned him to come back. When he did, Quinn crouched, taking the start position for a race. He lifted one hand and pointed to the position of his feet as he explained something. James watched intently.

Curious, Emily went out and joined them. It took a couple of moments before the two even noticed her. Quinn saw her first, nodded and smiled.

"Hi," he said.

She mumbled a hi back, then looked at James, and said, "Is this for boys only, or can I watch?" Her eyes lifted to Quinn. She hadn't spent half of last night telling herself not to act like the village idiot to fail at the first hello.

"We were going over a couple of basics for the hundred-meter," he said. "I think James here is a natural runner." He rested a big male hand on the boy's shoulder.

James's face was flushed and excited. "Mr. Ramsay raced too, Emmi. Did you know that? The same race I'm going in. He said he'd help me. Didn't you, Mr. Ramsay?"

"I did," he said, "but call me Quinn, James. It'll be easier for both of us." He turned to Emily then. "He says the games are in three weeks. I'll still be here, so it should work out fine. Do you think his mother will mind?"

"Lynn? Mind? She'll be ecstatic. As a matter of fact, I talked to her about the race last night. I was going to ask you if you could help out."
If I got up the courage.

"Consider it done." Quinn wondered why it made him feel good that she was going to ask him a favor. He looked at James. "Maybe I should meet your mom, though. How about it, buddy? You want to make some introductions?"

"You want to go now?" James asked.

"Why not? You don't mind, do you, Emily? I'll only be a minute."

"Go ahead. They live just behind that row of trees. I'll wait."

Quinn touched her cheek and smiled. His hand was cool, his touch light. "You'd better," he teased. "I don't intend to hike alone."

Emily watched the pair walk away. James was nearly as tall as Quinn and almost as wide through the shoulders, but he lacked the strength, the fullness of Quinn's adult masculinity.

When she turned back to the house, she touched the warmth left on her cheek by Quinn's light caress.

What could he possibly see in her?

* * *

"We could have stopped sooner, you know." Quinn's words were accompanied by a knowing grin as he watched Emily trying to stretch and bend the fatigue from her back. "Are you tired?"

"I'm fine. One hundred percent," she said.

He studied her, looked skeptical. "One hundred percent?"

Emily grimaced. "Well, maybe... sixty-five percent. But that's a pass, right?"

"Definitely a pass," he agreed and reached for his backpack.

Quinn spread a blanket on the dry grass. They were in Ruckle Park, just above a tiny cove lined with arbutus and sky-hugging Douglas firs. The beach below was marked by outcroppings of rock and a strip of sand left wet and swollen by the retreating tide. The sun shone fully now, and the grass was bright and warm.

Emily smoothed the end of the blanket and eased her beaten body wearily to its surface, thinking maybe she hadn't passed after all. Her legs, not fully recovered from the bike ride, were screaming at their unfair treatment.
I guess going from zero to a total of seven hours of exercise is pushing my luck—but damn it, I should be able to keep up.
She envied Quinn, who looked more as if he'd had a short walk in the park than a three mile trek over hilly, wooded terrain, and vowed never to get so out of shape again.

"Can I help?" she asked when she noticed him rifling around in his pack for their lunch.

"No. It's okay. Lean back and relax."

Happy enough to follow his instructions, she lay back, and closed her eyes, letting a woozy sense of fatigue slacken and ease her complaining muscles.

Quinn dug into his backpack, then spread their lunch out on the blanket. "I think I've got everything. Chicken, salad, and—" He dug deeper. "Juice. I'm starved. What about you?"

No answer had him glancing down at her. Lying there with her eyes closed, she looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. He watched her tongue move over the pale fullness of her bottom lip, moistening it, as she took a deep, satisfied breath. Her hands were above her head. For the first time since they'd met she looked open, unfolded like a flower reacting to the power of the sun.

Vulnerable
was the next word jumping into his mind. Emily had been in his head since last night. It had been difficult to stop with one kiss—and not something he was used to. He'd wanted her then. Hell, he wanted her now. Easy enough to figure that out. Figuring her out? Not so easy. And until he did, best he be damn careful.
Take this slow...